Devoted
by Avalon Estel
Summary: A collection of Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye vignettes written for the 30gens LiveJournal community. Added: Ordinary, Savior, Blatant Insubordination, Reunion, and Dear Journal. Rating for war violence.
1. Scarves, Trees, Anger Management

Devoted

Disclaimer: Never owned it, never will. Be glad.

* * *

**Theme #1 - Bad Weather**

_Scarves, Trees, Anger Management _

It was 8:23 AM, and Colonel Roy Mustang was late.

He was literally running down the sidewalk to East Headquarters, his raincoat pulled up over his head to shield him from the rain. As he neared the tall iron gates surrounding HQ, he could see a straight-backed figure standing expectantly, a green umbrella over its head. He froze as he saw the pale blonde hair drifting in the stormy wind.

It was Hawkeye.

And there he was, the superior that she was supposed to admire, even idolize (fat chance of _that_ with Hawkeye), running around with his jacket over his head like some stupid-looking hood. He quickly straightened his raincoat and attempted to walk nonchalantly up the stairs.

"I saw that, sir," she said, a silent laugh playing around her lips.

Roy snorted.

She smiled.

"Why aren't you in the office?" he asked gruffly, the tough colonel once more.

"You have the keys, sir."

Roy groaned, feeling stupid again.

"Well, let's go inside," she said. She'd only taken a few steps toward the door when a particularly large gust of wind blew past, whisking off her red scarf.

"Oh!" she gasped, snatching at it. Her fingers missed by an inch and snagged empty air instead. She ran after it, tossing her umbrella aside. Mustang watched in amused astonishment.

"Sir, can you help me?" she asked over her shoulder, her tone more annoyed than usual.

He chuckled and chased after the flapping length of silken cloth with her. Once, twice, thrice it skimmed the ground. Each time they leapt at it - and missed. It drifted higher and higher...and got caught in a tree branch.

Roy gave a wordless cry of complete frustration as Riza's shoulders dropped in an exasperated slump. He hopped in vain a few times, knowing that it was far out of reach. She had to hide a grin behind her hand as she watched the froglike movements of her usually-cool commmanding officer. He looked at her, irritation in his face. He reached into his pocket, withdrew his ignition gloves and slipped them on his hands.

"Sir..." cautioned Hawkeye as he poised his fingers to snap.

"What?" he demanded, teeth clenched. He snapped his fingers. Nothing happened.

He snapped again.

Nothing.

"It's raining, sir."

Only then did Roy realize that his hair was plastered to his head, and he remembered that they were in the middle of a downpour. He took off his gloves and threw them onto the muddy ground, stomping on them.

Hawkeye laughed. "Temper, temper, Colonel," she teased. "Besides, if you incinerated the tree, you'd also manage to burn up my mother's scarf."

"Why did you wear the thing?" he asked, glaring at the fluttering silk.

"I felt like it."

Roy crossed his arms, mentally cursing the antics of women. Then he took a deep breath, walked up to the base of the tree, caught hold of a low-hanging branch, and began to climb.

"Sir?" Hawkeye asked, bewildered. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to get your scarf. What does it look like?" Mustang blinked rain from his eyes, going ever higher. There! He reached up, precariously straddling a lower branch, and yanked the scarf from its perch.

"I got it!" he called triumphantly, waving it back and forth like a flag on a battlefield.

Hawkeye waved back, stifling a rare outburst of laughter.

He made his way back down, a victorious smirk lodged on his lips, and handed it to her.

"Thank you, sir," she said, smiling. She folded it and slipped it into her pocket.

"You're welcome," he replied as they started back to the building. Riza had completely forgotten about her umbrella. "I order you to never wear a scarf again."

"Yes, sir," she replied, amused. "But you are in serious need of anger management, Colonel."

As the door to East Headquarters swung shut behind them, the rain continued to fall.


	2. Lost, But Never Forgotten

Devotion**

* * *

**

Theme #9 - Old Friends

_Lost, But Never Forgotten  
_  
Roy was packing for the transfer to Central Headquarters. Emptying one of the drawers in his desk, he came across an old photograph of himself and the late Brigadier General Maes Hughes. It was from when they had just joined the service. He was surprised by how young they looked in it.

Or perhaps he was surprised by how much they'd aged.

In any case, the picture made him smile, though it was a pained one. His heart ached for his lost friend. His best friend.

"Something wrong, sir?"

Roy looked up abruptly. Riza stood a little to the left, looking slightly concerned. He set the picture in his briefcase. "It's nothing, Hawkeye."

She shrugged. He returned to his task. When he looked from the near-empty drawer to his briefcase, the picture was gone.

"Hawkeye," he muttered.

"I was just curious, sir," she said, replacing the photograph. "Forgive me for trespassing."

Roy sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Never mind, First Lieutenant."

Riza went off to the other side of the room, gathering knick-knacks from the tables and shelves. "I miss him, too, sir," she said, her back to him.

Roy hadn't expected her to say something like that. "I'm all right, Hawkeye," he muttered, feigning indignation. "Besides, the man was a nuisance, and he got himself killed."

"Forgive my insubordination, sir, but don't act like I'm stupid," Riza said. "He was your best friend. I watched you cry for him. You miss him, and you won't find peace until you admit that."

Roy remained silent. What was there to say? Hawkeye was always the quiet one, and here she was, scolding him like a little child.

Riza shook her head. "As for him being a nuisance, he _was_, but he did it for our benefit. Things can get depressing and dull around here, and he acted the way he did about his daughter to cheer everyone up and get their minds off of the heavy things. He wanted to help _us_, and you know that, sir."

Roy didn't look at her. "I know, Hawkeye."

"But sir," she added, "in truth, as long as he's remembered by someone, anyone, he's never really dead. Old friends, no matter how old, never really leave."

Roy looked at her. He didn't say anything, but he smiled.

Riza knew that for once, this was a _real_ smile shining through. Like the carefree smile of the young man with his name in the photograph, the young man who was, deep down, still there.


	3. Always

**Theme # 17 - Habits**

_Always_

Hawkeye walks into the office and hangs up her coat, just like always. Mustang sits at his desk, chatting on the phone. Disregarding protocol, she goes up and takes the phone from his hand.

"I'm sorry, but the Colonel has to attend to something. He'll be sure to call you back," she says politely into the mouthpiece. She hangs up the phone and looks up at him. "Get to work, sir."

She may as well be the superior, for his only argument is an amused smirk as he picks up his pen and signs the first paper in the pile she gave him, as he always does.

She sits down across from Havoc at her desk. Havoc is puffing away at the cigarette that hangs from his mouth, scribbling aimlessly on an empty page in his notebook.

"Second Lieutenant, please put away the cigarette," she says, a slightly annoyed note to her voice.

"Just let me finish this one, sir."

"Very well."

But just like always, she lets him go through two more before he puts his lighter away and begins to work.

"You're going to keel over some day from all the tar in your lungs, Second Lieutenant Havoc, sir," says Fuery from his desk.

"Ah, lay off, kid," mutters Havoc.

These are little things that no one else would notice, but Hawkeye can see all the routines, all the little habits they have, that they repeat daily, monthly, yearly. Every now and then, she'll glance at the Colonel. Sometimes his fingers forget that they're no longer in Ishbal and twitch involuntarily. If he gets annoyed enough, he'll snap his fingers, whether his hands are gloved or not. His dark eyes mirror everything they look at, for he's trained himself to keep everything in and everyone out. It would be a hard habit for him to break, if he ever wished to. Sometimes he even pulls up the walls around himself when he's with her. She is often tempted to break down the walls, but she would never, no matter how strong the temptation. They are his protection, his shield, and she would not leave him exposed and vulnerable to the world. So she lets him keep the curtain closed.

Sunlight limns his jawline, and she sees the stubble of a beard there, five-o'clock shadow. He hadn't shaved that morning; he must have had a bad night. He has another bad, protective habit. If he is remembering things too vividly, he forces himself to stay awake to keep away nightmares. She can tell from the lines beneath his eyes that he had been having one of those nights.

She has her own habits: a gun at her hip and one hidden beneath her jacket at all times, her hair pulled away from her face and clipped neatly behind her head, her back always straight, her nails always immaculate. She always has to have everything exactly the right way; she is a bit of a perfectionist. There is always a mug of hot chocolate on her desk, be it summer or winter. Rather than windows, her eyes are mirrors, like Roy's. She, too, is afraid to let anyone in. She takes a little book of children's rhymes with her everywhere, a keepsake from her childhood. Her mother, who had cut ties with her when she'd joined the military, had given it to her when she was a little girl, and she's never left it behind anywhere. She has a tendency to snap to attention anyone idling without a second thought. Her hand constantly strays to her eyes, brushing away her over-long bangs. She has no intention of cutting them. When she is surprised, her hand often flies to where she keeps her gun.

Her worst habit, however, is her devotion to Mustang, her near-obsessive following of the arrogant man whose commanding influence controls her whole life. She would do anything for him, die for him and his ambitions, his dream that one day he will bring a great nation into being, idealistic nonsense in this terrible, corrupt world. An ideal to cling to, like a stray butterfly hope, or a single feather left behind by the vanished bird. A foolish ideal, but she clings to it, nonetheless. Yes,that was her worst habit.

They all had their habits, their almost-rituals that they practice near religiously, sometimes many times a day. They will probably keep them until they die.

Old habits die hard.


	4. Moment

**Theme #23 - One-Way Street**

_Moment_

Roy stared out the window at the falling autumn leaves and sighed, thinking of all the autumns he'd missed because of his "work". He'd always been there, he'd just never paid attention.

Life really is a one-way street.

If you passed something up, you couldn't turn around and drive back, nor could you put the car in reverse. You'd probably collide with someone else who was hurrying on their way down the road of destiny.

He could never recapture the lost autumns, nor the summers, winters, springs. He'd just keep driving.

And he'd look out the window now and then.

Riza, however, was traveling down a different street, her own street of life. She glanced up at the Colonel when he sighed. He was staring outside, the pen lying idle in his hand. She wondered for the millionth time why she'd ever decided to work for such a slacker. Perhaps others found him charming; she was far from falling for _that_.

And yet here she was, ready and willing to throw her life away for his, ready as she had been for the past five years of her life, ready as she'd be until she died. She wasn't turning back.


	5. The Greatest Inconvenience

A/N: I took a bit of literary liberty in this chapter, and decided to include Black Hayate in the story. This takes place right after Ed becomes a State Alchemist, and Riza didn't get Black Hayate until about three years later, but I thought it would be cute if he were in the story anyway. Thanks to wyldcat for pointing that out!

**Theme #6 - Sick Day**

_The Greatest Inconvenience_

Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye had a cold.

How she'd gotten it, she wasn't sure. More likely than not, it was from being outside during that snowstorm the day before. Whatever the cause, she was stuck at home with a runny nose and a slight fever.

She sat in her living room, wrapped in a quilt that her grandmother had sewn. In hand was a mug of steaming hot cocoa, in the other a book she was attempting to read. Her eyes again scanned the same page she'd been staring at for the last two minutes.

It was no good. She couldn't concentrate; her head hurt too much.

Black Hayate, who had been curled up at the foot of her chair, whimpered and bolted under the coffee table as a mighty sneeze exploded from where Riza was sitting. She dropped her book and managed to spill almost the entire mug of cocoa on her flannel pajamas. She gasped as the liquid seeped through the fabric, scalding her.

She went to her room to change, blowing her nose and muttering about what great inconveniences colds were.

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang had a problem. 

The paperwork he was supposed to be filling out wasn't in order, and he didn't know how to get it that way. Breda, walking past Roy's desk that morning, had accidentally bumped into the desk and knocked the pile of paperwork off. He'd been dodging Fuery, who was being chased by Havoc, because the younger soldier had stolen the chronic smoker's cigarettes, insisting they were bad for Havoc's health.

At any rate, Roy had gathered the papers together, but he didn't know what groups belonged where, and which forms went to whom. Perhaps if he'd just done them that morning like he should have, rather than sleeping…

On the other hand, he'd been counting on Hawkeye filing them for him as she always did. He'd never bothered to learn how; subordinates had always taken care of paperwork. When it appeared she was running late that morning, he'd blamed the weather.

When she'd called in sick, he'd blamed her.

And now here he was, a pile of papers he could do nothing with in front of him and a bunch of immature subordinates running around his office like so many children.

Annoyed to the breaking point, he snapped his fingers.

He was wearing his ignition gloves.

A jet of flame crackled through the middle of the room. All four of his men froze in terror. Fuery actually squealed.

"If you imbeciles don't start _acting_ like you have some intelligence, although we all know you don't, I'll forcefully turn you into actors!" Roy shouted.

The four jumped to attention. "Sir, yes, sir!"

"Fuery, give Havoc back his cigarettes."

Fuery grudgingly obeyed. In return, Havoc kicked the younger man's legs out from beneath him.

* * *

Riza had successfully recovered from her sneezing attack, and was curled up in her armchair in a clean pair of pajamas. She was half-asleep when a knock came at her apartment door. She groaned and stood up, pulling the quilt on like a cloak. 

"Who is it?" she asked, taking a handgun from a small side table drawer and hiding it under the quilt.

"Guess!" said a cheerful voice from the other side.

She smiled, recognizing the voice, replaced the gun, and pulled open the door. Outside stood Major Maes Hughes, his arms full of flowers.

"Oh, Major!" she gasped croakily. "You didn't have to do _that_."

"Ah, I wanted to cheer you up. I know how terrible being sick can be, and Roy's gonna crack down on you when you go back to work." Maes smiled. "You like carnations?"

"Very much," she said. "Please come inside."

She held the door open wider for him as he stumbled into the apartment. He set the overfull flower vase on her coffee table and obliged when she offered him a seat.

"You have a lovely apartment," he remarked, cleaning the lenses of his glasses and peering through them.

"Thank you. Can I get you anything?"

Maes blinked at her incredulously. "You're sick! _I_ should be serving _you_!"

"Major, there's no need…" she started, but trailed off. It was useless. He was already in her kitchen, delving through the cabinets, chattering about his wife, Gracia, who was expecting, and how excited he was about becoming a father.

Twenty minutes later, he was carrying in a tray loaded down with tea, toast, soup and fruit. He set it on the table in front of her.

"Thank you, Major. There was really no need to do this," she said.

He waved a hand as if to wave off the matter. "Nonsense. I do this for Gracia all the time."

Riza mentally marked Gracia Hughes as a very lucky woman.

Maes left a little while later.

"Get well soon!" he said with a grin as she shut the door.

Only then did Riza realize that he'd spent his entire lunch break "cheering her up".

She went back to the lunch he'd made for her with a contented smile, feeding Black Hayate the crust from her toast.

* * *

That night, as Riza was getting ready for bed, her phone rang. 

"Hello?" she said into the receiver.

"Hawkeye, is that you?" asked an angry voice on the other end.

"Yes, Colonel." She coughed a couple times. "How are you, sir?"

Roy, who had been about to launch into an angry tirade about how irresponsible she was to get sick and have to skip work and what a terrible day he had had and how ridiculous and idiotic his subordinates were, paused. She sounded very sick.

"I'm fine, but are _you_?" he asked, his voice softening.

Riza was surprised by her commanding officer's sudden change of mood. "I'm doing better, sir," she answered truthfully.

"You sound terrible."

"Sore throat. It should be gone by morning."

Roy cleared his own throat. "Well, if you're still sick tomorrow, don't worry about coming in," he told her. "Just stay warm and get well."

Riza was touched. The colonel was never that nice to her. He was always brisk and professional, or sarcastic and mocking. Only once in a while did he treat her as if she were another human being, and not a simple inferior officer. She had not expected this to be one of those times.

"Are you feeling all right today, sir?" she asked jokingly.

Roy laughed, an honest, genuine laugh. "I really don't know, Hawkeye. But at any rate, I want you to get well," he said. "That's an order."

Hawkeye smiled. "Yes, sir."

"Good night, Hawkeye."

"Good night, Colonel."

_Click._

* * *

I would like to thank my lovely reviewers for their kind comments: MoonStarDuchess, unexpection, wyldcat, ooOAnimeChildOoo, Crystalazer (I'm honored that you like my work; yours is unbelievable!), and rizanroy4ever. Your words are greatly appreciated! 


	6. Maternal

**Theme #11 – Family**

_Maternal_

"Hawkeye?" asked Mustang, breaking the silence of the office. It was surprisingly quiet, for all of his subordinates were actually doing their work, excepting Hawkeye, who had finished hers.

She looked up from the book she was reading. "Sir?"

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

Wary, Hawkeye said, "Ask what you like, sir, but I may not answer."

The men around the table chuckled. Mustang smirked, amused.

"I was just curious, do you ever plan to get married, have children? You just don't seem like the maternal type."

Hawkeye felt the smallest twinge of annoyance. "I can be quite maternal when I want to, sir. However, I don't believe you overgrown babies deserve motherly affection. With all due respect, it's more like motherly discipline that you boys need."

Havoc and Breda burst into uncontrolled laughter, Falman and Fuery quickly stifled grins, and Mustang's smirk widened.

"Well said, Hawkeye," commented the colonel.

"Thank you, sir. Besides," Riza added, looking pointedly at him, "I have all the family I could ever want right here in this room."

Mustang's smirk faded into a real smile. "Thanks, Hawkeye."

"You're welcome, Colonel. Now get back to work."


	7. Daydreams

**Theme #16 - Code of Honor**

_Daydreams_

Hawkeye was at her desk, going through her paperwork. She hadn't slept well the night before, and was a bit less alert than usual. Forcing herself to keep her drifting mind on her papers, she eventually dozed off into a half-sleeping state.

Just then, much to her vexation, Mustang decided to look over at her.

"Well," he said, startling her into awareness, "that's something new. Hawkeye daydreaming?"

"Sir, I was – "

He cut her off with a gesture. "Let me guess what it was about," he said, grinning. "You were being rescued by a chivalrous knight in shining armor of gold. He rode up out of nowhere just at the moment when you needed him most and swept you gracefully onto the back of his horse. You were instantly smitten by his gentle manners and honorable ways. He rode you away from whatever danger you were in, and when you lifted the cover of his helmet to see the face of your savior, you found yourself lost in his dark, piercing eyes."

Hawkeye was annoyed. "I don't need a knight to save me, sir. Actually, I was devising a way to put a bullet between those dark, piercing eyes of _yours_."

Mustang grinned. "All right, I got the picture, Hawkeye."

They went back to their work.

A few minutes later, Mustang risked a glance up at her. She was working diligently now, a scowl firm on her face.

"You know, Hawkeye, I was thinking..._do_ you have a knight?"

Hawkeye glanced up at him, brows furrowed. "With all due respect, sir, you should stop thinking and get a life."

Mustang grinned and turned back to his work. Hawkeye was fun to badger.


	8. Checkmate

**Theme #13 - War and Peace**

_Checkmate_

When Riza got to the office – slightly late – she was surprised at what she heard.

Nothing.

For the first time in all the years she'd worked under the Colonel, she walked in to encounter perfect silence.

Absolute, complete, _blissful_ silence.

Roy sat at his desk, his feet propped up on the desktop, eyes shut and hands folded on his chest.

"Colonel?" asked Riza, setting her things on her own desk.

Roy cracked an eye open. "Wondering where the men are, Hawkeye?"

"Yes, sir."

"I gave them all the day off."

Riza cocked an eyebrow. "So I presume you forgot about me, sir?"

"No. _Someone_ has to help pull the weight around here."

Riza exhaled slowly and brushed her bangs aside. "Very well, sir."

They got to work, Roy being his usual calm, mildly cheerful self. Riza displayed her passive face, but inside she was more than a little annoyed. How could the Colonel be so selfish as to force her to work when the men who were normally slackers were off gallivanting around, having fun? Easily. He could do anything, and no one (except for Riza, occasionally) would ever say anything about it. The man was infuriating!

Suddenly, an idea struck her, a way to wipe the cocky smirk right off of his face. She broke the peaceful silence by asking, "Sir, would you like to play a game of chess with me?"

Roy looked up with an expression of mild surprise that quickly became amusement. She could see his mouth turn up slightly at the corners in a smile that reached his sable eyes.

"Very well, Hawkeye," he said, a laugh lacing the edges of his voice.

They broke out the chessboard. It surprised Riza that she still loved the game so much after what had happened in Ishbal. It was a war simulation, after all. She knew she probably had the advantage; she was a much more experienced player than Roy. Her late father had been an avid chess player, and she'd been playing the game all her life. However, she also knew that Roy could never turn down a challenge, and soon they were capturing each other's men one right after the other.

While Riza was contemplating her seventh move, Roy startled her with a sincere-sounding remark.

"I know what this is about," he said.

"What what's about, Colonel?"

"This game."

"It's supposed to be a war, sir."

"No, I mean why you asked me to play."

"And why did I, sir?"

"Because, Lieutenant, you're upset that I didn't give you the day off."

Bull's-eye. "With all due respect, that's not the reason," she lied.

"Yes, it is. You know it is."

Riza moved her knight and took his queen. She didn't reply.

"But you see, Hawkeye, I needed you. You're the most dependable of my people. I knew I could count on you if I needed something done."

Riza still refused to answer, but inwardly she was happy. Some deep part of her had hoped that the Colonel looked to her for help.

"Thank you, sir," she said finally.

"You're welcome, Lieutenant," he replied, smiling. "Oh, and by the way, checkmate."


	9. Wiser

A/N: The following fic is based off of episode 48 of the animé (_Goodbye)_, and is set right after Roy and Ed say their goodbyes and Ed leaves. Riza's mentions of her father are made up by me, based off of my other fic,_Uninvited Guests_.

**Theme #10 – Sweet Sixteen**

_Wiser _

As Riza started driving again, Roy watched Ed run off.

"How old is Full Metal?" he asked, turning back toward the front of the car. He glanced at Riza furtively. He couldn't see her expression; she was watching the road before her.

"I believe he's sixteen, sir," she said, though she was fully aware that Roy already knew the answer.

"Sixteen, huh?" Roy closed his eyes. "And how old was he when he became a State Alchemist?"

Roy knew that, too, but Riza answered anyway. "Twelve …sir." She had stumbled, almost calling him "colonel". She kept forgetting that he'd been promoted.

Roy gave a small chuckle. "He sure has grown up, hasn't he? I bet that if I had called him 'short' this time, he wouldn't have even cared."

"I wouldn't be so sure about winning that bet, sir."

"Perhaps you're right. Hate to admit it, but I miss the way that little hothead used to be."

Riza didn't reply, but she missed the little hothead's personality, too.

"Hawkeye, what were you doing when you were sixteen?"

"Mourning for my late father and trying not to have a breakdown, sir," she told him, her voice devoid of emotion.

Roy shook his head. "I was busy with my alchemy, trying to come up with something interesting for the practicals in the State Alchemist exams."

"Well, your sweet sixteen was happier than mine."

"I agree, Lieutenant, but something tells me you were wiser than me at the time."

Riza smiled faintly and looked at him in the rear view mirror. "And now?"

Roy smirked. "I'm wiser by far, of course."

Riza ducked her head, grinning. "Of course."

"But you know what, Hawkeye?"

"What, sir?"

"I think the kid's wiser than all of us."


	10. Fate

Theme #21 – Eye Color

_Fate?_

Roy sat at his desk with his finished paperwork before him, watching his subordinates scribble away at their own work. When Hawkeye felt his gaze and glanced up at him, he bemusedly noticed for the first time that her eyes were a deep red color.

Almost like blood.

He was suddenly struck by the strange thought that Hawkeye's eyes might once have been a different color, but that because of the deaths she had caused and had seen they had changed. Embarrassed, he shook his head and dismissed the nonsensical idea. Why was he getting all philosophical? Why was he thinking about her eyes, anyway?

_Because I have nothing better to do_, he told himself.

_No_, he thought, _not blood, something else. _He had noticed something else; in the sunlight, her eyes had flickered orange and yellow. What else was red, orange, and yellow?

There was always fire.

He laughed to himself. Why was she named Hawkeye? Why not Riza Fire-eye?

Riza of the Fiery Eyes. That sounded good.

Another thought occurred to him, almost causing him to laugh out loud. Fire Eyes and the Flame Alchemist. And Breda's blazing, fire-red hair… He wondered vaguely if it was preordained that he and his subordinates be trapped with one another.

_Interesting_, he mused. _Perhaps Fate exists, after all_.


	11. Compliments

Theme #27 – Mimic/Imitation

_Compliments_

A/N: This is a drabble set during episode 47, after Roy and Riza have assumed their disguises.

"Colonel?"

"What, Hawkeye?"

"Just thought I'd mention, sir, you looked exactly like Lieutenant Havoc back in that infirmary."

"Yes, I think I did a pretty good imitation."

"From the back, anyway. Your eyes are too dark, and you don't grin enough."

"You're right as usual, of course. You should get yourself a pair of glasses with fake lenses. You looked better with Fuery's glasses on than he ever did."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment, sir?"

"Of sorts."

"It's a rather poor one, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Either way, it's the truth."

"Whatever you say, sir."


	12. Tempus Fugit

Theme #14 - Education

_Tempus Fugit_

"I can't believe that in a week I'll have been in the military for eight years," Riza said, looking at the calendar. "And it will have been eight years since I graduated from school, as well."

"Tempus fugit," Roy muttered. "It's been ten years for me."

"Ten years since you graduated, sir?"

Roy laughed. "I didn't graduate from school, Hawkeye. I was a dropout, remember?"

"Oh, that's right," Riza agreed, nodding. "You took your state alchemist exam at the age of sixteen. You wouldn't have graduated until you were eighteen. Sorry for the mistake, colonel."

"Not a problem. You were probably a better student than I ever was."

"I don't doubt that, sir."

"Now that I think about it, I would like to have gotten a diploma. The life of a scholar would probably be a heck of a lot better than the way my life ended up. Sometimes I wish I'd never taken that stupid alchemy exam. Sure, I got accepted, but everything went downhill from there." He glanced out the window. "Though…there have been a few good things," he added after a moment.

Riza didn't reply, but she hoped that she was one of those good things.

* * *

_Tempus Fugit_: Latin for "time flies". 


	13. To See the Ocean

A/N: Based off the manga, as Xing only exists in Arakawa's work. Don't have to have read the manga to read this, though.

Theme #29 – Ocean

_To See the Ocean_

"There are no oceans in Amestris."

Roy looked up in mild surprise at Riza, who was looking up at him from over her paperwork.

"What an odd thing to say," he murmured, a bit bewildered. "Why does that matter, lieutenant?"

Riza gave a stiff shrug. "I was just thinking out loud. I apologize for the disruption, sir."

"Not a problem, Hawkeye. But tell me, what made you think about it?"

Riza was beginning to wish she hadn't said anything. "I was reading a book yesterday that was written by an author from Xing. He described the ocean in it, and I must say, it sounded very beautiful."

Roy thought she looked terribly wistful. It was rare for Hawkeye to show such emotion, and he suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for her. "Well, there is an ocean off the coast of Xing, but as much as I hate to say it, that's an awfully long way from here," he said.

The wistful look on Riza's face deepened. "I know, sir."

They both silently returned to their work.

* * *

It was two months later that Riza found the seascape painting on her desk as she walked into Roy's office. She had forgotten all about the conversation, but seeing the carefully-painted cobalt waves topped with dabs of white foam brought it back to her in a rush. She gasped quietly and touched it gently with her fingertips. The dry paint was rough against her skin.

She glanced up to see Roy sitting behind his desk with a happy, self-satisfied smile on his face. She could have kicked herself; the painting must have cost him a fortune. She should have known he would do something like this. But then again, he didn't do this sort of thing very often.

However, all she said was, "Sir…"

He seemed to understand. "It's nothing, really. It just took me a long time to find it. You really do have unusual tastes, Hawkeye."

Knowing that he would never let her pay him back for it, Riza acquiesced. "Thank you, sir. You really have no idea how much it means to me."

Roy had begun twirling his pen in his fingers. "Don't be ridiculous, lieutenant. Of course I know how much it means to you. I wouldn't have gotten it for you, otherwise."

"Well, thank you anyway, Colonel," she replied, setting it carefully on the floor beside her desk. She was well aware of his understanding of her thoughts. And she knew he would probably like to see the ocean, too.


	14. Ghosts on the Wind

**Theme #5 – Waking Up to the Wind**

_Ghosts on the Wind_

"Like I said, the living can be much scarier. Give me a ghost any day," Roy told Riza, leaning back in his seat.

He meant what he'd said. He sure as heck wasn't being haunted by Maes' ghost, and though he'd suffered greatly from grief for his late friend when he'd visited the widowed Gracia Hughes, he knew no guilt. However, he knew he'd be haunted many a night by the Rockbell girl's look when she'd glared down at him from the upstairs window. Somehow she must have found out what he'd done to her parents.

He wondered vaguely who had told her. Surely not Full Metal; the boy knew, but he was much too kind to tell his friend such a thing. Roy knew that.

He still remembered vividly the day he'd shot the Rockbells. They were doctors, accused of harboring and helping the Ishballan "traitors". Their punishment was immediate execution.

He remembered how they'd pleaded, how they'd begged to be left to their work, how they'd used their profession as a shield, and then their patients, and finally their daughter. The father shook his daughter's photograph furiously, desperately before Mustang and Gran.

A few minutes later, that photograph was splattered with blood, the same blood that stained the floor at Roy's feet. He had known, even while he pulled the trigger, he had known that he was not doing a service for his country, but committing murder. Cold-blooded murder.

"Sir?"

Roy shook out of his reverie at the sound of Riza's voice. He felt the wind blowing gently through his hair, sighing against his blanched skin like the breath of the very ghosts he'd denied fearing.

Riza on the other hand, begged to differ with her commanding officer's opinions. They both had their ghosts, and she knew he had many more than she did. Haunted by her own as she was, she had no doubt that he was just playing the tough guy.

She'd seen him assaulted by memories of the war many times; she'd been with him on that fateful night when he'd decimated four Ishballan cities. She was sure the ghosts still followed him.

They told no one, not even each other, that they often woke in their respective homes with the wind blowing over them from the cracks in the window panes, blowing and howling against the windows as if it were the angry souls of the people they'd murdered, the dreams they'd snuffed out, the lives they'd blown out like candle flames.

For them, waking up to the wind was rarely a pleasant wake-up call. For them, the demons and ghosts were constantly dancing on it, haunting them always.


	15. Dark Circles

**Theme #24 - Vitamins**

_Dark Circles_

When Fuery came into the office that morning, Roy and Riza were already there, as usual. Looking at the colonel, Fuery stammered worriedly, "Lieutenant Hawkeye, can I talk to you for a moment?"

A little puzzled, Riza went up to Fuery. "Yes?" she asked.

"Is the colonel feeling all right?" the young soldier whispered, casting nervous glances at said colonel. "He looks awfully pale, and has dark circles under his eyes…those are usually signs of anemia, you know. If he needs some vitamins, I have some back in my dorm – "

Riza chuckled. "The colonel is fine. He just didn't sleep well last night," she explained.

Fuery didn't look convinced. "Well, if he faints from lack of iron in his blood, you know who to ask."

"I appreciate your concern," Roy said, coming up behind Riza. "I know what's wrong with me, and vitamins sure aren't going to fix it."

"Yessir," Fuery said, saluting. He scuttled off to his desk, wondering what in the world Roy was on about.

"I don't think there's anything that can cure nightmares," Roy muttered to Riza, heading back to his desk.

"Well," she began, "I always did say you were too pale. Maybe you _should_ start taking some vitamins."

"Get out of here, Hawkeye," Roy snapped.

Riza laughed and ambled off. It felt good to get the upper hand once in a while.

…And maybe she ought to start taking those vitamins that were always sitting in her medicine cabinet.


	16. Uninvited Guests

Author's Note: This is officially the longest one-shot I've ever written, and it turned out a lot angstier than I'd expected. Paragraphs in italics are direct memories. Please R and R!

**Theme #20 - Regrets**

_Uninvited Guests_

First Lt. Riza Hawkeye stood beneath her umbrella outside of East Headquarters. Work was done for the day, and she was headed home. The rain beat down on the hunter-green material of her umbrella with the beautiful constancy of a percussion band while she waited for the bus. She wouldn't have minded to keep waiting, because the rain was keeping her company.

She was startled out of her observation of the puddles around her feet by a loud thunderclap. It sounded like a gunshot, but Riza had heard enough of those to know one when she heard it.

Some gunshots stood louder in her mind than others. But none stood louder than that first.

She had been barely more than a child, a girl just reaching womanhood when she'd joined the military. She had always been fiercely proud of her father, who had been a high-ranking soldier. Then, in an unexpected outbreak of fighting in the Ishballan territories, he was accidentally shot and killed by a fellow soldier. They called it friendly fire. Her mother called it murder. After the death of her husband, Mrs. Hawkeye had decided that the military was completely evil and cast it out of her life forever.

When her daughter, her sweet baby girl, had announced that she was enlisting, she'd simply cast her out, too. Riza knew that her mother loved her, that she had been hurt by her husband's death, butRiza had made the decision to follow her father, and that was what she was going to do.

She had joined just as the war was starting in Ishbal. They had put her in a large battalion that was being commanded by a Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, a State Alchemist. She'd never met him, but she was expected to follow his every order, and she'd intended to, even if he was telling her to throw herself off of a cliff. At the time, she hadn't cared whether she lived or died. She was grieving for her dead father, she was depressed from her mother cutting off all ties with her, and she would gladly have accepted Death's pale, outstretched hand had he extended it to her. She never told anyone, showed anyone any of these emotions. To her peers and superiors, she was a wall, untouchable by any emotion, be it anger, sadness, happiness. She was stern and taciturn, respected and avoided by all.

Then, she had suddenly ended up on the warfront. They had been in an Ishballan city (she couldn't remember which), and a bout of violence had broken out in the middle of the city square. There had been shots coming from every direction. She had fired a gun many times during training, but never at a living, breathing target. She hadn't been able to shoot once the fighting had begun.

But she hadn't counted on being attacked.

_"Watch out!" cried a deep, masculine voice. She was thrust aside as the barrel of a rifle swept through the air her head had occupied just moments before. A soldier of Amestris stood over her. He was pale, pale as snow, with raven-dark hair and eyes. On his hands were gloves with alchemical symbols embroidered on them. He looked concerned and relieved. _

Oh, no,_ she thought. _No, no, no.

_That was not the Flame Alchemist. _

_That was not the lieutenant colonel she served under._

_That was not _Roy Mustang.

_But it was._

_She nearly choked. "Th-thank you, sir," she shouted over the din of battle._

_"No time for that, Private!" he shouted back, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her to her feet._

_"Yes, sir," she said, snapping back into focus. Then an Ishballan man appeared behind Mustang. Her heart stopped beating when she saw that he was aiming a rifle at her, preparing to pull the trigger._

_And suddenly, she _did_ care whether or not she died. _

_And she didn't want to._

_She whipped out her gun, fired once, twice. The man fell to the ground, blood staining his brightly colored shirt. Mustang had turned in shock, not having expected what had just taken place. Seeing the rifle in the dead man's hands, he'd assumed she'd saved his life. He smiled._

_"Good job, Private," he congratulated her, patting her shoulder. But she wasn't looking at him. She was staring in horror at the man she'd killed._

_Just like that, she'd pulled the trigger. One second he was alive, the next he was lying in the dust in a pool of his own blood. One second and he was gone. She couldn't understand it. It was so easy. Cock the gun. Remove the safety catch. Pull the trigger._

_One, two, three._

_It had been so easy._

Killing should not be that easy, _she thought. It should be complicated. You should understand it. A person should not evaporate like dew in the morning sun. A life should not disappear with such simplicity._

_"Private! Private, are you listening to me!"_

_Riza jerked out of her reverie. It took a while for her to realize that all of that had only taken a few seconds to unfold. Then she realized that her commanding officer was still standing in front of her, still shouting at her, looking more annoyed by the second._

_"Yes, sir?" she asked weakly, her voice breaking over the words. She felt so empty, as if the wind were blowing through her like it did through an open window._

_"I said that I'm going to make sure you get a promotion for that. Saving a superior officer's life is not something to be ignored." He was smiling, but it was not the smirk that she came to know so well in the following years. At the time, she'd barely seen it. She wasn't aware enough to point out that she'd been saving her own life, not his. He continued going on about her heroism, how valiant she was. How she'd be honored. _

_She deserved to be killed, not honored._

_"I just killed someone, sir," she murmured, dazed, not hearing him at all. _

_He looked mildly surprised. Then, he patted her shoulder again and told her she was taking it in a normal manner, that she wasn't doing anything that other soldiers before her hadn't done. He commended her for her good heart. Said he could understand her feelings. That he'd felt them himself many times. But he also said that it was a war, and in a war one's own country and people came first._

The battle had raged on for a long time, and it had seemed like centuries to her. It had taken millennia, eons for that battle to end. When it had, she'd felt shattered, as if every bit of humanity had left her, that her soul had been snatched away by something evil.

That her soul had been snatched away by her own hands when she'd pulled the trigger.

When that battle ended, she'd gone to Mustang and told him that she was quitting. She wanted out; she wanted no further part in the killing. This wasn't a legitimate war; it was a massacre, a genocide. She had had a rare crying session. She told him that she was usually better put together, keeping her head down to hide the tears dripping down her blanched cheeks, holding back sobs that threatened to escape, terrified the whole time that he would see her as weak and be disgusted.

Instead, he had tried to comfort her.

He then told her that all of what he'd said to her on the battlefield was a lie. He hadn't wanted to be there. He had been stupid, over-ambitious, wanted to die. Wanted to kill himself. Wanted to be done. He didn't know how he was going to live once the war was over, how he could go back to everyday life. He'd blasted every bit of heart he'd ever had into tiny shards of nothing, and he didn't want it anymore. He had apologized to her for being her commander, wished for her sake that she'd never joined the military, told her he wished she'd have let him die that day, that she was the first person he'd ever told these things to.

He'd given her his handkerchief so that she could dry her tears.

She'd left his tent feeling no less horrible, no less sickened by herself. She'd wanted as much as ever to leave herself behind, go back to before her father had died and never, ever think of joining the military. But she couldn't. She had become stained, tainted, and knew she always would be. She decided to stay off the battlefield after that, and became a sniper, killing as few as she could, only shooting enough to skid by with her superiors.

But she had also suddenly known what she wanted to do. That man, Mustang, had a heart. No matter what he said, he had a heart. Maybe it was broken, but it was there. He had looked different in the tent than he had when they'd been fighting. During the battle, he'd seemed cool, confident, even a bit arrogant. But during their conversation, he'd looked tired, as if all his strength had been sapped from his body. He had sat slump-shouldered, dark shadows under his eyes and dirt smudges on his cheeks where he hadn't bothered to clean them after the fight. His hair had been grimy and his hands had shaken ever so slightly. His voice, so commanding and professional before, had been flat and sorrowful. She hadn't been able to believe it was the same man.

Yes, he had a heart, and she would protect it. She would guard it with her own hands, with a gun if need be, with her life if that's what it meant to keep that man alive. He may have been wading in a sea of blood, but she learned later that he wanted things to be good. No one who was evil spoke the way he had to her.

But she'd been horrified after that last night. That final night on the field. He'd gone out, snapped his fingers a few times, incinerated every living thing in the entire town. Charred, murdered every person there. Men, women, children, the elderly.

Everyone.

As he'd walked back into the camp, sweaty and soot-streaked, she'd wanted to shoot him. For the first time ever, she'd _wanted_ to kill someone. She'd thought she had found something special in this man, something different, something good. But then he walked in, completely silent amidst the cheers of his subordinates and the praise of his superiors, and had gone into his tent.

_She stalked furiously to his tent, flung aside the flap, and stepped inside. _

_"Lieutenant Colonel, I need to talk to you!" she said, her voice barely below a shout._

_But she halted in her tracks when she saw him. He was sitting on the blanket that served as his bed, his uniform jacket lying in the dirt beside it, his white shirt halfway unbuttoned, streaked with sweat and grime. He was unmoving but for his hands, which were busy ripping apart a piece of white material._

_Seeing the red embroidery threads hanging tattered from the white cloth, she realized they were his ignition gloves._

_"You actually want to talk to me?" he asked sarcastically, his mouth upturned in an almost sickening smirk at the corners. "What could you have to say to such a great superior? To such a heroic warrior?"_

_Riza could see he was hurting. All thought of a confrontation evaporated from her mind. He was obviously disgusted with himself. He dropped the shredded gloves and buried his face in his hands, his fingers entwined in his sable hair._

_"Please leave, Private," he said. His voice was like it had been that time: quiet, pained, pleading. "I order you to."_

_She stood there, watching him sit in silence. She thought for a long time. Then, she took a deep breath and did something she'd never dreamed of doing. _

_She disobeyed a superior's order._

_"No, sir. I won't leave. And besides, I'm a Private First-Class now."_

_He didn't look up. "I don't know how you can bear to be around me. I can't even bear being around myself."_

_Again, there was silence. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't comfort him; what could she say? There was no way to justify how he'd killed those people, those innocent civilians. She couldn't say, "It's all right," and expect everything to magically become better. He had done it, she knew he'd done it, and neither could deny it. It was a completely unavoidable truth, an unchallenged fault. But it would haunt him forever. _

_Slowly she became aware of a gentle tremor in his shoulders._

_She felt like someone had punched her in the stomach._

_He was crying._

_"…Sir," she said, not knowing what to do. She thought she should leave, give him some privacy, but she was also afraid that if he was alone, he may try to hurt – even kill – himself. _

_He didn't answer. _

_After a moment, she knelt down in the dust beside his bed._

_"Sir, are you all right?" she asked softly._

_"I thought I asked you to leave," he whispered._

_"You did. I didn't think it was the right thing to do."_

_"You're braver than me. If I'd have done that this morning, we wouldn't be here. But I was a coward. I followed along like a little dog with his tail between his legs."_

_Riza sat quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Maybe you should sleep for a while, sir. You'll feel better."_

_He looked up at her, astonishment clear on his features. "Why do you care?" he asked. She ignored the lines of pale skin that showed where his tears had washed away the dirt from earlier, the brightness of his eyes. She didn't think he'd want her to see that. _

_"Because I do, sir," she answered simply._

_He closed his eyes and sighed, a thin smile on his lips. "Very well," he said. He turned over and lay down on the blanket. She unfolded the second blanket that was lying at his feet and spread it over him. She felt like a mother caring for her frightened child. And indeed, he looked like a child, shivering, pale, curled in a ball. It hurt her heart to see him like that._

_"Thank you," he said quietly. "You didn't have to do this."_

_"You're welcome, sir," she replied._

_Neither said anything for a while. Soon, his breathing steadied. Thinking he was asleep, she got ready to stand._

_He startled her by saying, "You're still here?"_

_She nearly fell over. "I thought you were sleeping, sir."_

_He laughed gently. "Not yet," he said, rolling over to face her, his head propped up on his hand. "But why?"_

_"Why what, sir?"_

_"Why did you stay?"_

_"Because I wanted to."_

_"You're quite the uninvited guest," he murmured._

_"Am I bothering you, sir?" she asked. If he asked her to now, she would go._

_"No. You can stay if you wish. It's up to you."_

_"Thank you, sir."_

_He gazed at her for a while. She didn't become uncomfortable; she was used to being stared at. _

_"What's your name?" he asked._

_"Private First-Class Riza Hawkeye, sir," she said, saluting._

_He put out a hand. "Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang," he replied as they shook hands. "Thank you for being here, Hawkeye."_

_"I always will be if you want me to, sir," she said._

_"I do."_

And so here she was, five years later, still at his side. She'd protected him many a time, but she never mentioned it. She didn't hold him in her debt. He was too important for petty payback here and there. He had not seen her cry since the first time she'd killed, nor had she seen him cry since that night. Perhaps he thought she was stubborn and hiding herself like he did, but her stoniness was not for her own feelings, but because she had to stay strong for her colonel, so that she could be the cliff face when his sea of sorrow broke through again, as it undoubtedly would. Her colonel needed her, and she'd be there for him.

The bus finally came. She sighed and stared up at the rain, still falling steadily, gently to the earth.

"How is it that something so pretty can bring such uninvited guests with it?" she asked no one. The rain was cruel for making her remember, for her memories would always be uninvited guests, as she had been that night. But at least she had something to live for. At least she no longer wanted to die.

She could live with her regrets.


	17. Keeping Secrets

A/N: Set during that one episode, where Roy and the gang ended up in Risembool when they were chasing after Ed and Al, right after they left the Rockbells' house. Spoilers for Ep. 25, but I think everyone knows about that by now.

**Theme #15 – Secrets**

_Keeping Secrets_

As Roy shut the door to the Rockbells' house, Riza fell into step behind him.

"Sir?"

Roy turned and looked at her. His face held no expression, but she could see in his usually blank eyes a tinge of sadness.

"Why don't you tell them, Colonel? It might take away some of your own grief," she said softly, inaudible to any but him.

"And get nearly clobbered to death by Edward?" He gave a light, bitter chuckle. "This is not the time for grief or mourning, Hawkeye. Those boys – "

"That's what they are, sir. Boys. Boys who deserve to know the truth. Lieutenant Col – I mean, Brigadier General Hughes was their friend, too."

"Maes," Roy said, dropping his eyes to the ground.

"What?"

He looked back up at her. "His name is – was – Maes. I don't want to think of him as a soldier anymore. He never should have been in the military in the first place. I want to see him as a man. As the father and husband. I want to remember him as my friend."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"It's fine. But I think we should wait. Those boys need to think about their goals. I'm not telling them something that will become a diversion. Edward is prone to vengeance, and I don't want to risk him going on one of his crazy rampages when we're not even sure who we're fighting." He pulled on his ignition gloves. "I want to protect them."

"Very well, sir," Riza said, sighing.

Roy beckoned her after him. "You know me, Hawkeye. I never keep secrets unless it's important."

"Then I suppose a lot of things are important, sir."

Roy didn't reply as they went down the road to meet his other men, the sun turning the dusty ground and grass to gold.


	18. Confrontations

**Theme #22 – Argument**

_Confrontations _

Edward stomped out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him so forcefully that the pictures on the wall shook and the filing cabinets rattled.

Riza sighed, went to one of the steel cabinets, and pulled open one of the drawers when it had stopped vibrating. "Perhaps you could try being less offensive, Colonel," she suggested, putting some folders in the drawer.

"I'm not offensive towards him," Roy protested in his usual drawl, a satisfied grin stretched across his features.

"Yes, you are, sir."

"Since when?"

"Since I met you. You enjoy provoking people and causing confrontations, with all due respect, sir."

"I do not!" Roy insisted, sounding agitated. "I'm not offensive, either! Besides, you shouldn't be talking to me like this; I'm your superior!"

Riza sighed. "Forgive my insubordination, sir."

"Fine, but only because it's you."

"You can't stand to lose, either," she muttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, sir."


	19. Pulse

**Theme #2 – Unfamiliar Territory**

_Pulse_

The first time nineteen-year-old Roy Mustang sets foot on Ishballan soil, he halts unexpectedly, frozen in shock. Never in his life has he seen people the way they are here.

In Amestris, the people are pale and frosty and distant. They never even glance at anyone around them as they walk down the sidewalk, never speak above a quiet whisper. The buildings are all made of cold, gray metal and stone, or deep, hollow brick. The streets are paved and the doors are closed. The shops are all sealed away behind bright, clean windows and tightly-shut doors that open once or twice a day. Noise is rarely heard and never tolerated. Everything is always perfect, prim, and private.

But in Ishbal…

He shakes his head, unable to believe what he is watching. The Ishballans are dark and brilliant and open. When they pass one another as they stroll along the dusty dirt roads, it is always with a laugh or a wave, sometimes even an embrace. The buildings have bright murals painted across them. People hang out of windows, calling down to others on the street, or stand in doorways, simply watching the crowds go past. Merchants' carts line the streets, their shouts echoing around as they praise their goods. Children run everywhere, adults stand here and there, talking in clusters or shouting conversations at each other from across the square.

He finds himself drawn to a group of women to his right. They are dancing to the strumming of a lone guitar, flashes of reds and blues and greens as their skirts twist about them violently, their bare feet stomping in the dust, bracelets and anklets and earrings clinking with every stamp of their heels and turn of their heads. Dark curls swirl in every direction as they spin like dervishes, their deep, dark voices singing in a language he has never heard, every inch of their bodies flooded with the rhythm of the thrumming guitar strings.

He gazes on in silent amazement, unable to comprehend the strange pulsing inside of him, dragging at his very heart and soul. He has never felt something like this. He wants suddenly, desperately, to have some place in all of this, because it is warm and new. It's like a second heartbeat, a new stream of blood coursing through his veins, a mad, whirling swirl from somewhere deep inside of him. He wants to hold onto it, because it is something he's been needing. It is new and bright, and he loves it.

He prays that the rumors of uprisings and fighting between the Amestrians and the Ishballans are false, because he knows he could never bear it if the wild, pulsing soul of Ishbal was hurt.

The last time twenty-eight-year-old Roy Mustang sets foot on Ishballan soil, he feels his heart begin to break. Never, even in his worst nightmares, has he expected to see people the way they are here.

He had left the beautiful, blazing Ishballan city after he had snapped his fingers once, twice, thrice, destroying it with fire hotter than any in the hearts of the people. He had returned to Amestris. His pale face had frozen, but not as much as his heart had. The fire was gone, blown out by the wind and the snow of his own country.

The dark people, once so bright and full of life, are now tired and haggard. Their faces are drawn and frightened, their bodies frail, their spirits wisps of smoke. He stares at them all. The hollow eyes, as hollow as the buildings in Amestris, stare back. Their clothes are dirty and torn, and all is silent.

And the only thing he can think of is those women dancing.

Then, the rocks start flying, and a stone grazes Hawkeye's cheek.

He watches as a tiny line of blood drips down her perfect porcelain skin. He sees her in his mind: pale, prim, proper, frozen Hawkeye – a perfect soldier, perfect sniper, perfect woman…

…A perfect statue.

And for one instant, he imagines her dancing with those women, golden hair catching the sun, crimson eyes flashing, chanting along with the others in a language that he has never learned to understand. He knows she would never dance, but he can feel the life, the warmth buried deep within her, just as it is buried within him, and he thinks that perhaps he can dig it up.

He lifts his hand into the air and snaps, sending a jet of flames into the sky. It catches the hollow eyes of the Ishballans. That is all he wanted, their attention and some calm, because he can never forget what he has done. He never wants to watch their spirits die again.

He couldn't bear it if they did, and he will never let it happen. He wants to see the Ishballans laughing and shouting and running again, wants to feel that throbbing heartbeat again, wants to feel _alive_ again, because he is as dead and frozen as winter inside.

He wants to watch those women swirling and thumping their feet into the dust in time with the music, whirling and dancing and drowning in that beating, breathing pulse.


	20. Blatant Insubordination

A/N: Please forgive me the ridiculously long hiatus, and please enjoy my humble ficcing!

**Theme #12 – The Jungle**

_Blatant Insubordination_

"Thank you for the coffee, Colonel," Riza said as she and Roy left the small café.

Roy waved a hand nonchalantly. "Anytime, Lieutenant. Next time, I'll remember to get you hot cocoa instead."

Riza looked up at the evening sky, surprise on her face. "My, it got dark quickly," she commented.

Roy raised the collar of his coat to shield his neck and face from the wind. "It's autumn. That happens, you know."

"I was just pointing it out," Hawkeye said, slightly annoyed.

"Of course. You enjoy pointing out the obvious."

"You're hilarious, sir."

Roy looked around at the street. Lights were coming on in the buildings, and some of the more unsavory sorts of people were starting to come out. "Can you get home all right?" he asked Riza.

She smiled and patted her side. Roy saw a nearly imperceptible bulge at her hip, concealed for the most part by her beige winter coat. He smiled too. She could definitely take care of herself. She probably had more guns concealed beneath her coat than the sheets of paperwork she'd given him that morning. Not that she needed more than one to get the job done.

"All right, then," he said, trying hard not to laugh. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hawkeye."

"Goodnight, sir," she replied. She saluted and headed off down the sidewalk.

Roy watched her go until she turned the corner and he could no longer see her. Yes, she could get home fine.

_The question is_, he thought, running a hand through his hair, _can I?_

He had no idea, at the present time, where in the world he was. All right, scratch that. He knew he was in Central, outside of a café that Hawkeye frequented. That information, however, really wasn't helpful in the least, since he had no idea how to get back to HQ from where he was.

And if he couldn't get to HQ, how the heck did he expect to get home?

"Typical, Mustang," he chided himself. "Just couldn't ask for directions, could you? Didn't even think about it, did you?" He started off in the direction they had come from. Maybe if he could get back to HQ… It was getting darker all the time, and he was aware of more and more people filling the streets. A man staggered past him, laughing uncontrollably, a bottle in his hand. Roy sidestepped away from him. He wasn't frightened of the man; on the contrary, he was disgusted. He wasn't worried about what anyone could do to him. He was more capable than Hawkeye when it came to self-defense.

He slipped on his ignition gloves. Just in case.

"Think of it as a mission," he murmured. "Set your mind on the goal, concentrate, and get it done. It's just walking home, after all. You've done harder things."

He halted, trying to get his bearings. There were no street signs, no maps…he could have killed himself.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he hissed, covering his face with his hand. "Just _couldn't_ have paid attention!"

"Must be crazy…" he heard someone whisper from behind him. He peeked out from between his fingers, watching a young couple pass him with wary expressions on their faces.

Great. Now he was lost _and_ crazy.

He rubbed his face vigorously and let his arm drop to his side.

"Now, what to do?" he asked himself. The wind was getting colder; he huddled down in his jacket. He continued walking, trying to judge by landmarks whether he was going in the right direction. He had never really had a head for such things, though, and he wasn't making much progress.

After about two and a half hours of wandering around, he had run into so many nasty people and places and areas of town that he felt filthy. He wanted to get home and take a bath.

They had said the East was uncivilized and unsettled; if that was so, then Central was a regular jungle.

He started watching the sidewalk at his feet, no longer wishing to make eye contact with anyone. His boots scraped against the ground with each step, crunching through the dry leaves that had congregated on the cement. He was going to kill Hawkeye tomorrow. She should have told him how to get home. She knew him well enough to realize that he hadn't paid an ounce of attention to where they were walking.

"All you ever do is talk, you self-centered idiot," he muttered.

"Who you callin' a idiot?" demanded a voice from in front of him.

Roy looked up. A well-built young man stood before him, looking angry and reasonably bloodthirsty. He was tall, with red hair and a switchblade in his hand.

_Jeez,_ thought Roy. _Can this night _get _any worse?_

He decided to try a peaceful approach first, though he doubted the thug was able to use coherent language. Besides, he was so mad at the moment that he was afraid he would leave the young man as ashes if they started fighting.

"I apologize," he began. "I wasn't speaking to you."

The redhead raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Really," Roy answered, narrowing his eyes.

"What if I said I don't believe you?" asked the redhead, grabbing Roy's chin.

_Wrong again_, thought Roy. The guy was capable of speech. Unfortunately.

Roy reached up and grasped his wrist. "I'd say that's too bad," he replied.

And then it started to rain.

Roy could have screamed as the drops began pattering around them. If it became a downpour, his gloves were useless. He'd have to fight with his fists, and he was out of practice.

Not to mention the guy's switchblade.

This was just not his day.

"It is," the thug agreed, blissfully unaware of Roy's predicament. "It's _real_ bad for _you_."

"Are you done taunting me?" asked Roy.

"What if I'm not?"

"I'll just have to do _this_," Roy cried, swinging his leg up and driving his boot as fiercely as possible into the redhead's stomach. He gave a loud grunt and fell forward. Roy stepped back away from him, pulling off his gloves and slipping them into his coat pocket. He spread his legs apart for balance and curled both hands into fists. For one surreal moment, he noticed how smooth they'd become from years of writing and office work. Sheesh. For some reason, he'd been under the impression that he was a soldier.

_What a sissy you turned out to be, Mustang,_ he thought. _Father would be so ashamed._

The redhead staggered up to his feet. "You're dead, man," he said between gasps. "Dead, you hear!"

"I hear you," Roy said. He proceeded to use some language that he wasn't especially proud of using, but he was furious and didn't care.

A look of intense anger flooded the young man's face, and he rushed at Roy, the switchblade pointed right at his chest. Roy easily dodged the move and landed a punch against the redhead's cheek. The redhead reeled toward the street, but caught his balance and kicked Roy squarely in the chest. Roy flew backwards and collided with the wall of the building behind him. He dropped down on all fours, desperately trying to catch his breath. The rain fell faster and harder.

"Got you, tough guy," the redhead said. A pair of boots appeared in front of Roy's downcast eyes and he knew that in a moment he would have a knife buried into some vital area of his body, but he was so winded and tired and _frustrated _that he couldn't even move.

He decided that when he died, he'd come back and haunt Hawkeye as punishment for getting him in this situation. And Havoc for smoking all the time.

He shut his eyes and lowered his head. He was intolerably aware of the pain in his chest, of the blade that he was sure was hovering above him, of the rain flooding down his face, and he thought that it was absolutely _pathetic _that he was going to die like this.

And then, a crack pervaded the air around his ears, and the boots disappeared as a pained cry exploded from the redhead. Roy's head shot up. Hawkeye stood in the street, gun raised. There was a black car behind her; one of the Military's, to be exact.

He wanted to run up and hug her. She definitely came in handy sometimes.

The redhead was curled on the cement, cradling a bloody arm and moaning.

"You had better get that fixed," Riza told him calmly, putting her gun away. "There's a hospital about a block from here. In this part of town, they're used to cases like yours."

The young man glared at her as he struggled to his feet and ran away, toward the hospital she'd spoken of.

"Well, Colonel," was all she said as she looked down at Roy.

"Don't even _think_ about talking," Roy spat, slowly getting to his feet. His chest was throbbing with pain. Every breath hurt. He teetered over to where she stood and jabbed a finger in her face. "I have wandered around every part of this city that I never wanted to see, and have come _nowhere near _where I wanted to be. I blame _you_, Hawkeye, because you should have known that I'd get lost. I blame _you_, because it was _your_ brilliant idea to go out for coffee. And I think it was only fair for you to come out here and save me, because it was _your fault_."

Riza didn't move. She just gave him an indignant, heavy-lidded stare and took it.

"I am wet, tired, dirty, and in pain, Hawkeye," Roy continued. "I have been humiliated and subjected to physical abuse. Thank you very much for saving my sorry carcass, but right now, all I want is to go _home_."

"Are you wearing your uniform, Colonel?" she asked shortly.

"No," Roy answered, caught off guard.

Without a word, she reached up and slapped his face. "Get in the car, Roy Mustang, and shut up," she commanded.

Roy stared down at her, mouth hanging open and dark eyes wide. His cheek was stinging. He wanted very badly at that second to hit her back, but was so shocked that he couldn't think.

"Get. In. The. Car," she commanded again.

Astonished, Roy staggered to the automobile and collapsed into the passenger seat, eyes still wide. Riza calmly slid into the driver's seat and started the ignition. They began cruising down the cobblestone street, the rain pouring down the windows.

"That was blatant insubordination, Hawkeye," he said when he'd found his voice again.

"You're not my colonel at the moment. You're Roy Mustang, you're soaking wet, and you were completely lost," she snapped. "I had every right to do what I did, and I won't apologize for it."

Roy covered his face with his hands, knowing she was right.

"You're a typical man, Mustang. Never asking for help. Did it ever occur to you that all you had to do was ask the cashier at the café for directions? But of course, as usual, you were too _proud_."

Roy pushed his dripping bangs from his face and started to laugh. Soon he was laughing uncontrollably, like the man he had seen earlier. She tried to resist at first, but soon Hawkeye was laughing, too.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he choked out between giggles. "You saved me back there."

"You're welcome, sir," she said. She smiled broadly. "And I _am_ sorry for what I did."

"Don't be. I deserved it."

"All right, then."

Roy just kept laughing.


	21. Dear Journal

**Theme #3 – Calendar Day**

_Dear Journal_

Thursday, September 20, 1915

Eastern Military Headquarters

Dear Journal,

Today was madness, as usual. Fuery was off, so Havoc took advantage of the fact that the boy couldn't complain about it and smoked at least two packs of cigarettes. I opened all the windows. I ended up siccing Black Hayate on Breda, because he fell asleep four times. (Needless to say, he didn't do _that_ again.) The Colonel was on the phone all day, chatting with one girl after another. Finally, I unplugged the phone cord. As usual, he just laughed at me.

He can be quite the infuriating pig.

Then Edward showed up. Need I say more? At least I had a nice conversation with Alphonse – he's a very intelligent little boy, and has a great amount of patience with his brother. I admire him for that.

Then Hughes came in with a massive stack of photographs that he'd taken of Elysia last weekend and spent nearly an hour showing them around. Elysia is a lovely girl, and she has a wonderful father, but if I have to put up with much more of his constant admiration of her, I'm afraid I may do something drastic.

Hmm. That's an interesting idea. Me – do something drastic? Perhaps I should, just to see the Colonel's reaction.

…Perhaps I _should_.

Deviously Yours,

Riza

Fifth Day in the Third Week of August, 1915

HQ

Dear Journal,

Today was fun, to say the least. For once I didn't have to listen to Fuery clucking over Havoc's smoking habits. That's saying something. Breda kept falling asleep, and it got to the point that I decided to give him a good snap with the ol' ignition gloves, but then Hawkeye had her stupid dog attack him. Oh, I'll never forget the way Breda was howling, shaking his leg in an attempt to get its teeth out of him.

I also played a joke on Hawkeye, just to get a reaction. I called my niece (who was in on it) five times, calling her by a different name each time. She thought it was hilarious, and played along while I pretended to be sweet-talking her. I could practically see murder in Hawkeye's expression, and I just about died laughing when she went over to the wall, ripped the phone cord out of its socket, and threw the phone as hard as she could into an empty drawer in one of the filing cabinets. That woman is mental, I'm telling you.

Ed gets more temperamental by the day. Any little thing ticks him off, and once it does, does he ever go at it. (Note to self: mock Hawkeye about developing "maternal instincts". She's always hovering around Al.)

Then Maes came and began flashing pictures of Elysia across my face at a mile a minute. The man is insane. I should never have let him marry Gracia. I should have known something like this would have happened.

Well, time to wrap this up. I'm going to be late for a meeting with a lovely lady, and this time, it isn't my niece. Ha, ha! I crack myself up.

'Til tomorrow,

Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist


	22. Ordinary

**Theme #28 – Legend**

_Ordinary_

Riza always knew she was in the company of a living legend.

People all over Amestris spoke of the Flame Alchemist, one of the great heroes of the war, who had risked his life many times over to protect his country and his people. She watched while other soldiers stopped him in the halls, begging to shake his hand. She often found herself scowling at groups of young women asking for photographs as keepsakes. She heard a hundred bland, rehearsed speeches of encouragement to little boys with bright eyes and untainted hearts.

And it was kind of funny to her, because she had learned firsthand that all legends were lies.

Legends – stories that people pass from generation to generation, praising men who had done great things in their lives, who had been inspirations to people of all ages and who had risen above the limits people set for themselves.

Roy was one of these men.

Yet Riza knew, even as she listened to people commend the Flame, that somewhere, some Ishballan mother whose child he had killed was cursing him. She knew that to some people, his name was like a poison, and he was just a snake.

Riza knew that the acts people considered splendid kept him awake at night. Maes had told her of many times when he'd found Roy curled up in bed or on a sofa or in a chair, sobbing until his eyes were bloodshot and he was so hoarse that he couldn't speak for hours. She knew that the constantly bored expression on his pale face was a mask that would crack at the slightest touch.

Riza knew that he had dreams, that Time and Fate had stolen many things from him, and that his past was littered with slip-ups and shattered hopes. She knew that he liked tea, and a good book, and watching the sunset. She knew that he was irritable and lonely. She knew that he was in desperate need of redemption.

And it made her wonder how many of those other legends were ordinary men like him.


	23. Savior

**Theme #8 – Deus ex Machina**

_Savior_

"It's him!"

Gasps.

"It's _him_! It's Colonel Mustang!"

Roy halted at the sound of the jubilant squeal behind him. A series of even more excited squeaks rung out in chorus, followed by hurrying footsteps. He rolled his eyes and turned, resigning himself to his fate.

As expected, he found himself surrounded by a gaggle of euphoric young women, each with a pen and notebook in hand, excepting one, who had a tube of lipstick poised over her paper. They all stared ardently at him, as if they had never seen anything like him in their lives.

Roy sighed and held out his hands for their papers.

He had just started sign the first of them when a familiar, stern voice said, "Colonel, you have more papers to go through."

Roy sighed again, gratefully this time. "Hawkeye." He handed the papers back in a rush. "Excuse me, ladies. I have work to do. A colonel's a busy man, you know." Then he dashed, almost skipped, after Hawkeye as she went on down the hall.

"Thank you for saving me back there," he told her in an undertone.

She just nodded. "If I didn't, who would?"


	24. Reunion

**Theme #19 – Time Spent Apart**

_Reunion_

He left a year later.

There had been the internal uprising, the Homunculi, the Ishballans, the Fuhrer… Fuhrer Bradley had been the beginning of the end. After Riza had found Roy crumpled in a heap outside of Bradley's burning mansion, all she'd been able to feel was this empty chasm in her stomach. The only thought in her mind was that she had lost her general, and that was unacceptable.

He recovered slowly but surely, but his left eye was gone, and he always kept the most unnoticeable of limps. He had sworn off alchemy, and it was as if the fire in him had blown out, as well. At first, she was able to coax smiles out of him, and they talked often, but never of what had happened. He wouldn't let himself think back on the past ten years of his life, except for when it concerned the Elrics directly. He reminisced about them all the time, and when he was on leave, he often traveled to Risembool to stay with the Rockbells and visit Al. The boy didn't remember him, but they became fast friends.

He never said it, but Riza could tell that Roy thought about Ed a lot.

The little blonde time-bomb had disappeared inexplicably. No one had any idea where he could be, and Riza always wondered. So did Roy. She could tell he was thinking about Ed, because he would smirk and bring up something that had happened back when he still saw the world with both his eyes. Most people thought that Full Metal had died during the uprising, but Roy never believed it, and said it on several occasions.

Then, the Flame went out late and didn't come in to work the next morning. She called his government-funded apartment seven times, but he never answered. That night she drove over with Falman and found him unconscious in the middle of his floor, sweaty and obviously drunk. His eyepatch was missing, the burn scars across his eye standing out starkly against his pale skin.

Two days later, he resigned his position and asked to be re-enlisted. All of his subordinates tried, but none of them could dissuade him from such a ridiculous decision.

"_What are you doing, General?" demanded Riza, glaring at Roy from across the office. He was ignoring her gaze as he packed his suitcase full of supplies._

"_I'm quitting, Hawkeye," he said in a soft, indifferent voice that wasn't his._

"_Quitting," Riza repeated._

"_Quitting. I've been dispatched to the Eastern border as a watchman."_

"_After all these years, you're going to give up? You're just going to throw away all you've done and start at the bottom of the ladder again? After all the work, after all the things we've been through – that's it?"_

_He turned and looked at her. There was a dark smudge of exhaustion beneath his visible eye, and his face was so blank that she wanted to shake him or hit him or kick him…do _something_ to make his expression change. _

"_That's it," he whispered._

"_Why?"_

"_Because I'm a lousy, no-good fake." He shut his suitcase and turned to the window. The sunlight threw a soft golden glow on his features. "All these years, I fought everyone including myself in an attempt to reach the top, because I believed that by doing so, I could make things better."_

"_That's right!" Riza shouted, not even trying to keep her voice down any more. "You were going to make things _better_! And I believed you! I believed in you and your dream, I fought for you – I gave away everything for you, because I believed! Don't you understand what you're _doing_? Do you realize all the people you're letting down? Me, all of your men, Major Armstrong, Ed and Al…you're even letting Hughes down! He died for this dream of yours, Mustang! He _died_ for you! And you'd let him down?"_

_The only thing that changed about his face was that the lines deepened and his gaze dropped. "But tell me, Hawkeye, did I make anything better? Did I change anything at all? I'm a failure. I realized something three days ago. All those dreams – they were for me. I wasn't doing any of that for anyone other than myself. I wasn't fighting for the people, for the ones that I killed, for Maes…I wasn't even fighting for you. I was being the same selfish, arrogant wretch that I'd always been, and I was just trying to prove to myself that I could do better."_

_Riza could feel the tears rolling gently down her cheeks, and she couldn't stop them. "You're lying, sir," she said in a hoarse whisper. "You're a liar."_

_He walked up to her, the suitcase in hand. There was a small, sad smile on his lips and his eyebrow was furrowed low over his eye, which was bright as if he were about to cry, too. He lifted a hand to her face and gently wiped the tears from her right cheek. "Maybe I am. But it doesn't matter anymore." He started to leave, then turned back and saluted. "You're my superior now, by the way. Good day, Lieutenant Hawkeye."_

She didn't see him after that. No one ever heard from him – no phone calls, no letters, no word from anyone. He had taken a permanent position at a tiny, hard-to-find border post, and had apparently gone into hiding. She didn't know if she missed him or hated him; perhaps it was both.

And then there was trouble again, and with trouble came the Flame. He strode in amongst the gunfire and noise, cool as he had always been, and began throwing orders around as if it were the only thing he'd been born to do. She wasn't surprised when the men jumped to obey, despite the fact that he was technically their subordinate. He was their General again, and all they wanted was to do his bidding.

They were Mustang's men once more.

Though Riza had never been filled with such joy and shock and relief at one time as she was now, she had never been one to showcase her emotions. All that she could say was, "We've been waiting for you, sir."

He just gave her one of his knowing smirks and went on being the general that he was. They didn't need words, and it was as if they'd never even been apart to begin with.


End file.
